


Good In Him

by Aud_McCartney



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Gen, Leia Organa Deserves Better, Leia Organa-centric, Leia grieving, because I wanted the whole fckn world to cry with me, takes place basically any time after TFA when she can grab a forcedang minute for herself, y'know; that thing she never has time to do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 09:33:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aud_McCartney/pseuds/Aud_McCartney
Summary: The lucky never see their world decimated. Others know the debris field by heart.





	Good In Him

_I know there's still good in him_.

Leia sat alone at her post at rebel command, long after sundown, the words nestling in her mind for another night as her squadrons ebbed to their barracks. By now, she'd lost count of all the unwelcome refrains, filling the silences at the ends of her days, permeating her consciousness until her ears rang and her bones ached. They sounded with painful regularity and a picture replay behind her tired eyelids. She'd come to expect their presence.

Of all the ghosts that could have visited, those words would not have appeared on her list of preferred choices. Not even at the bottom.

They'd caused a lot of trouble in her family.

Luke had used them once. About their father. She remembered specifically the wild illogical hope in Luke's eyes, how obstinate and sure, and the way it'd somehow convinced her that everything would be all right anyway.

She wished she could see that look now, because the words had lost their glow, and didn't help her anymore.

Those weren't even the words she'd used, anyway. Not exactly. Or were they? Had she said "good in him" or " _light_ in him?" One of the two. It didn't frankly matter anymore.

Han had been killed because of those words. They tasted like metal and smelled like ozone, and she wanted nothing more than to take them back.

He'd been right to doubt them. For once, he'd been right and she'd been wrong. if he'd only come back for even a moment, just stroll through those doors with that cocky cavalier grin and those sorry eyes and chide her like an ass for all this foolish mourning, she'd even admit—

The blast doors opened behind her. She whirled in her chair, eyes wide, but it was only Poe Dameron, bowing his head briefly as a greeting of respect.  

"All clear for the night, General Organa," he said. "First watch is on the scanners with orders to report any trouble."

Leia nodded; her pilot copied the gesture. "Thank you, Poe. Get some rest."

"And you."

The doors sealed her in again in his wake. She momentarily considered leaving this room herself, but it was easier to be here at command than in her private quarters. Easier to cling to the daylight, to the cause, and to being their General. At least it was in theory, anyway.

 _General_.

There'd been a time when, of the two of them, only Han had held that title. They'd given it to him for his heroism during the assault on the first Death Star, and all the skirmishes afterward. He'd never wasted a single opportunity to flaunt it around, either.

 _And excuse you, if you don't mind, your worshipfulness, that's_ General _Stuck-Up Half-Witted Nerf Herder to you, and_ yes _I left that other part out on purpose! If you want to debate it a little further, well be my guest!_

That rebuttal had come a good two hours after the insult had been delivered in the first place.

She'd earned the distinction herself after the Battle of Endor, when she'd decided that strategy was more her game than wielding a lightsaber would ever be, and she'd always sworn that Han had been torn between being proud of her and sulking like a youngling. Not that it stopped him from fondly adding _general_ to the things he called her.

 _Your Worship Princess General Leia Skywalker Solo Organa_.

It was a lot of names, too many names for too many chapters of a relentless story. Far too many names for one person. She felt the weight of them now. It felt too strongly, too realistically, that she'd lived a separate lifetime for every one of them.

She needed Han in all of them.

It was the kind of thing she'd never have wanted to admit, but now it tore at her ribs and left a permanent draft in every room. It soaked her gut with a magma that burned brighter after dark, when no one could save her.

Every night, it all happened again. Her diversions ran out, and then she was alone, only a matter of time before her desperate compulsion won out and she reached through the Force for a warm presence that would never reach back. It was so illogical. It was so unlike her to be illogical. And Han had not been a Jedi. He would never be one with the Force as Obi-Wan had learned to be, and she would never see Han again, but not even the strongest of reason could stop her when the light was gone and she was left to herself, and so she reached. She reached until her temples pounded, beading with droplets of perspiration that felt like blood pricking through her pores. She reached until she could feel the chasm of light all around her, and even then, there was nothing, nothing but a muddle of indiscernible voices, and none of them were his. She reached until her concentration finally broke and her anguish burst forth in a gutteral, animal cry from the depths of her lungs, leaving her rocking in her chair or foetal in her bed, hands over her face, and each time, her sobs were the same.

_Han, I'm sorry.... I'm sorry...._

Why hadn't the Force just left her when she'd opted away from her calling? Why had it made her feel his death? Her heart had gone the way of Alderaan; it had happened again, the low vibration reaching her marrow and vaporizing her world from the core to the surface, the surface into asteroids, the asteroids into coarse glitter in her wounds, in every scar. The stars ripped apart and cooled and died and turned black, and everyone was gone—her father and mother, and father and mother; her homeworld and so many friends, so many charges; her lost, wayward brother, her lost, wayward Ben, and Han, just lost, never to tell her it would be all right again.

Had Ben been in this kind of pain when they lost him? Was he punishing her? Had he saved the worst revenge for his mother?

When would it be enough? Would it _ever_ be enough?

One beam had once again erased the life she knew. Once again she mourned the time she'd spent away. And she mourned her fallen son along with his father, with the bleakest and most final of certainties. If it'd been hard to see _Han's_ face in the wake of the turning.... She could never look at Ben again.

He, too, would never come home.

The only solace in the dark was that it never managed permanence. Eventually it would recede, succumb to the light, night gradually becoming morning, and command would come to life again. There would be sounds from the mess hall, thrusters and engines, boots on metal and jovial voices to drown out the words in her head.

She would stand tall again. Pilots, engineers, volunteers; they would all look to her. General Organa. And she would be General Organa for them.

A general's wounds were private, and she reserved her supernovae for when only the stillness could see.

Leia rose from her seat, leaving behind no remnant of tonight's regrets and desperations. They would be back; until then, she pressed the panel to part the blast doors, beginning the long walk to her sleeping quarters with her chin held high and grim mouth steady. Purged of her most recent grief, she scrutinized the words she heard again, clearer.

 _I know there's still good in him_.

She'd been correct about every word but one. The 'him' was not Ben. Not anymore.

The good had been in Han, and that was light enough to guide her to another day.

 


End file.
